


Interrogated

by sensitivebore



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2017-11-26 11:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/649985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sensitivebore/pseuds/sensitivebore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carson and Hughes, and a secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interrogated

He looks down at the stain on the carpet, sighs at the young maid staring at him in horror. What is her name? Laurel? Something like that. It's clear what she's done; she's spilled blacking polish on the carpet and it'll come out, probably, but Mrs. Hughes will have a fit, will absolutely scold her from one end of the house to the other. The girl is staring at the stain, at him, back at the rug. She twists the polishing cloth between her hands frantically.

"Mr. Carson, I — please, Mr. Carson, I can get it out, only if — I'm new, Mr. Carson, and if she sees this, she'll sack me, she'll put me out — "

Carson smiles, pats her reassuringly on the arm. "No, now, my dear. She's not as hard as all that. Just tell her it was an accident and she'll show you how to get it up and everything will be all right." After a thorough bollocking, he thinks. Mrs. Hughes is never cruel to her girls, never hateful, but nor does she hesitate to give them a tongue-lashing when she finds it warranted. He's felt the rough side of her tongue more than once himself if he's honest, and it's not a prospect that he enjoys. So he can understand the girl's panic.

Well. Maybe he enjoys it a bit. Maybe. Perhaps her anger stirs something in him, perhaps seeing her loom over him with hot eyes and curled fingers and heaving breasts is —

"Please, Mr. Carson, don't tell her, don't please, I'll fix it before she ever even sees it, I promise."

He groans a little inwardly. This is tricky, this is bad business; if she suspects he's keeping something from her, stepping onto her territory, she really will have his hide and then some. She's fiercely territorial about her maids and their training and if she suspects he's interfering, she'll — he sighs. The girl is looking at him now with tearful eyes and he doesn't have the heart to get her in dutch, to be the messenger that will deliver her up to a woman that she obviously fears, holds in awe.

"All right, then. Just — see to it, young lady. Chop, chop." He pats her again and takes his leave. Sends a prayer up that she'll manage to fix it before Elsie comes looking for her, and that if she doesn't fix it, that she won't drag his name into it.

An hour or so later, he's arranging the flowers in the front hall, enjoying the process, enjoying the echoing silence of the entrance and the tactile beauty of the roses, the chrysanthemums when he hears the familiar sound, the sound that winds through his dreams, the chime of keys against soft skirts, the clicking of heels.

"Mr. Carson! Oh, Mr. Carson, here you are. Have you seen the new girl?"

His eyes widen and he busies himself clipping stems, stripping leaves. Damn the girl, she's still at it? Surely she should have either gotten the polish up or reported to Mrs. Hughes by now. Still. He had promised not to get her in trouble and he won't.

"Ah — no, no. She's most likely just — taking her time in one of the bedrooms. Nervous, you know, since she's new and — well. She doesn't want to disappoint you, I'm sure." Shut up, shut up, man. He's babbling, saying too much, he's never this verbose about one of the maids, for Christ's sake.

Her eyes narrow and he can feel her staring at him, taking his measure. "Mr. Carson, are you quite sure you don't know where she is? I've checked all the bedrooms and can't seem to find her."

Carson doesn't look up, can't meet her eyes or she'll know he's lying in a minute. Begins pulling the imperfect petals from the roses, stalls for time by shaking them out to make sure there are no hidden insects in the folds. "I, ah, can't say that I have, Mrs. Hughes. Perhaps she's taking a break — did you check outside, perhaps she smokes with Miss O'Brien."

Elsie crosses her arms, leans against the table, presses her lips together in a stern line.

"So. You have seen her, then."

Oh, God. He goes for the bluff, then, draws himself up to his full height, glowers down at her. "I said I had not, now if you would kindly stop holding me responsible for the whereabouts of your maids, I could finish this bouquet and get on with my duties. I don't have time to — "

And it didn't work. It never does, he never cows her, not even when he shouts. Damn the woman. Now she's straightened herself and is standing very close to him, their bodies almost brushing, and her temper is rising. He can see the sharp dash of red on her cheekbones, the clench of her jaw. "Mr. Carson, where is the girl at? Why on earth are you behaving in this ludicrous manner?"

"Mr. Carson!"

He simply looks at her, refuses to speak, gives her a haughty scowl before turning back to his flowers. The absolute wrong thing to do he realizes too late, she's not going to be ignored, not her, he can't turn his back on her.

He never can. Curses the girl for putting him in this predicament. Carson gasps when he feels a strong hand on his arm, jerking him as hard as she can to turn him back to her, and she is furious now, just furious, almost gritting her teeth.

"Don't you try that with me; what have you done? Have you been interfering with my girls, because if you have, so help me — " He can't think, can't do anything with her fingers biting into his bicep like this, her fingernails pressing through the layers of cloth to lightly indent his skin. She has done this before in his private thoughts, in his secret mind, but they are in his bed and she cries his name, begs, writhes beneath him as he —

"Well?" She steps closer and she doesn't realize it, he knows she doesn't, but her breasts are just lightly touching his chest as she cranes her neck to glare into his face, as she tightens her hold and her nails are most definitely marking his arm now and it's delicious, lovely, a sweet faint sting that always happens in those secret thoughts, a mild pain that he cherishes in those erotic daydreams when she loses control of herself, when she opens her legs for him, pleads with him to —

"I, uh, no. No, Mrs. Hughes, I wouldn't — I don't bother with your maids, you know that." She's too close to him and he tries to think of anything but her body, anything but her scent, anything but how her thighs would feel against his hips when —

"Mr. Carson, you are making me very angry. I simply want to know where she is. Are you hiding something? Has she done something? Batted her lashes at you, asked you not to report her to the old dragon housekeeper? Is that it?" She is outraged now and gives him a sharp little shove with the heel of her hand. It doesn't budge him in the slightest but she is causing a distinct problem right now and he has to get away from her before she notices exactly what type of issue she's responsible for because he's trying, he's trying to think of counting the silver or balancing the books or anything other than the fact he can see directly down her dress from this angle and if he did - he's not, he's a gentleman and he'd never - but if he did, he's fairly certain he'd see the swell of her breasts at the top of her corset and —

"Mrs. Hughes, I have to go. I really have to, I'm sorry, there are — things to take care of. Ask Anna if she's seen Lauren, I don't have time for this." And he doesn't meanto, he truly doesn't, but when he looks down at her he does see, sees right beneath her neckline to the pale perfection of her cleavage rising from the ruthless constriction of her satin-trimmed corset and —

He leaves, walks away with a straight back, doesn't reply to her angry, exasperated call.

He'll get an earful later once she discovers the reason for the deception, he knows, but right now, he can't care.

Right now there are other matters at hand.

In a manner of speaking.


End file.
